


Feels So Good It Can't Be Wrong

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: A Lot of Plot, Angst, FAHC, GTA Universe, Happy Ending, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9391154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Ryan doesn't think much of Ray, at first.Boy, was he wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally inspired by [this](http://anarchetypal.tumblr.com/post/121614239310/ive-posted-some-darker-timeline-gta-raywood) Tumblr post and was supposed to be about 3,000 words, but, uh, well, this happened. So this is what I've been working on for the past few months (and I'm not going to lie here, I'm kind of proud of some (most) of this).
> 
> If there's anything I forgot to tag or any spelling/clearly unintentional grammar mistakes, feel free to let me know!

Ryan spins the chamber, grinning behind his mask.

“Now that didn't work too well, did it?”

The guy's lip quivers as he pauses mid-step, wide eyes trained on Ryan. They're in the guy's fancy house, the night outside casting the whole place in shadow, from Ryan's impressive figure to the broken glass littering the ground behind him.

“I'd suggest you come with me,” he continues, voice pitched light and playful. “Unless, of course, you want to have a few more holes in you.”

The guy looks between the door and Ryan, and just for that Ryan shoots the floor next to his foot. The guy yelps and jumps a foot into the air.

“I really wouldn't recommend that,” Ryan says sweetly, but then his eyes narrow to slits behind the mask and he lowers his voice to a dangerous growl. “Come with me.” 

The man nods shakily and nearly faints as Ryan approaches him, close enough to press the gun into his forehead, a warning.

“Hands up,” he says. The guy doesn't move and Ryan clicks the safety off. The guy hastily obeys, then, hands shooting up in front of him for Ryan to catch in his other hand.

“Good job,” he smirks, before rapidly swinging the gun to knock the guy out. He collapses to the floor and Ryan takes a moment to find the zip-ties before leaning down to tie the guy up. He punches on the mic button for his comms.

“We're good in here. Leaving soon,” he mutters.

“Roger. I'm round back,” Jack replies cheerfully.

Ryan hauls the guy up over a shoulder and carefully carries him out of the ground-floor window he broke into, immediately moving to the trees lining the guy's property and navigating to the back of the garden.

Jack's dark green camouflages well with the night, but Ryan spies the silver of the rims and heads toward it. The wave Jack gives him as he approaches seems incongruous with what they're doing – getting revenge, but technically kidnapping.

Oh well. Technicalities never bothered them anyway. 

Ryan slings the guy into the backseat and slides into the passenger seat. Jack peels out as quietly as he can, engine rumbling low beneath them. Twigs crack under the tyres as he pulls out, but soon they're on the road, blending in with the other cars.

When they get back to base, Michael's trying to strangle Gavin and Geoff is stoically ignoring them, raising his glass to Ryan and Jack as they walk in.

“What's this about?” Jack asks, tipping his head towards Michael and Gavin.

“There may have been some...alternative playing styles,” Geoff says, smiling in a way that tells them that Gavin wasn't the only one cheating, but just the one who got caught. Ryan rolls his eyes but goes over to the other side of the sofa, staring down at an upside down Gavin, whose eyes are closed as he scrabbles uselessly at Michael's hands around his throat.

“Hi Gavin,” he says, and Gavin's eyes snap open and he shrieks (“Ryan!”) and Michael takes the opportunity to strangle him harder. Gavin's eyes go impossibly wider and Michael laughs, letting up and sitting back. Gavin lays gasping on the sofa, reaching back to grasp at Ryan's wrist.

“He nearly _killed_ me, Ryan,” he pants, pulling pathetically on Ryan's sleeve.

Ryan nods and takes off his mask with his other hand. “Nearly's not good enough.”

Gavin sucks in a shocked breath but there's a smile tugging at his lips when he replies with “You love me though, Ryan.”

Ryan doesn't respond but he reaches down to ruffle Gavin's hair, smirking at Gavin's squawk as he hurriedly shuffles away.

Ryan looks over at Jack and Geoff and jerks his thumb back toward the garage, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Put him in the warehouse,” Geoff says, and Jack nods. Ryan puts down the mask and returns to the garage to drive the guy to their “interrogation” warehouse.

\----

Ryan's sharpening a knife the next morning when Michael walks into the living room, shirtless with his pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips.

“Hey Ryan,” he manages through his yawn, running a hand through his messy hair. “You're up early.”

“Got a hostage to interrogate,” Ryan says, gesturing to the knife.

“Hm,” Michael agrees absent-mindedly, scratching his chest as he looks through the fridge. “D'you want some help with that?”

“Nah, it's okay. He'll break easy.”

“Okay.”

Eventually the others filter in, Geoff suspiciously absent.

“Where's Geoff?” Ryan asks while they're watching television. He's waiting for Geoff's word to start with the guy, but he's been awake for five hours and Geoff still isn't here.

“He went out somewhere, didn't he?” Gavin says, munching on a granola bar. “Left at, like, four.”

“Well, where is he?”

“I dunno.” Gavin coughs and Michael thumps him heartily on the back, grinning in response to Gavin's glare.

“Just making sure you don't choke, boi,” he offers. Gavin's glare turns into a sunny grin, complete with a “Thanks, boi!” that has Michael chuckling.

Another hour ticks by slowly and then Geoff returns with a scrawny kid in tow.

“Ryan!” He calls as soon as the door shuts behind him. Ryan and the other three turn to look over the back of the sofa.

“What are you – get to work, guys!” Geoff splutters, shooing at the other three as they scramble to get up, someone silencing the TV on the way.

Geoff beckons Ryan over and Ryan goes, coming to a stop in front of his boss and the kid.

“Ryan, I don't believe you ever met Ray,” Geoff says, hand dropping from the kid's hoodie. “Ray, this is Ryan.”

Ray looks up at Ryan from under his glasses, his expression strangely blank. “'Sup?”

Ryan pauses, looks between Geoff and Ray, but with no hints, he intelligently responds with “Uh, sup?”.

Geoff laughs and steps away from the two.

“All right, Ryan, he'll be helping you out with the guy today. Try to keep blood to a minimum, okay?” He claps his hands once before gesturing towards the door to the garage. “You kids have fun,” Geoff says before disappearing out the front door again.

Ryan stares disbelieving at the door until the distinct click of buttons draws his attention. He drags his gaze down the door, across the floor, over Ray's purple shoulder, to land on – a DS. A DS.

He doesn't know what to say for a moment, and just watches Ray's slim fingers deftly grip the console as he plays – whatever he's playing.

Honestly, the kid looks like a twig, would probably snap like one over Ryan's knee. There's no obvious weapons on him, no weird bulges under the loose purple hoodie or the cargo shorts, and the only sign that the kid's ever seen a fight is the two butterfly bandages on his left cheekbone.

“Uh, Ray?” Ryan ventures.

“Yep?”

“Are you...ready to go?”

“Yep.” Ray glances up from his DS and rocks on his feet a little. “Lead the way, Vagabond.”

“I - “ Ryan starts, but Ray's already refocused on his game and Ryan decides to just go.

He grabs his gun on the way and then goes to the garage. He decides to take his car this time, and Ray slides into the passenger seat without a word. It's a silent ride over and Ryan doesn't even try to make conversation, instead focusing on how tightly he's gripping the wheel. He brakes a little too harshly when he parks – mostly to fuck with the kid, but Ray just rocks forward and back, paying no mind as he keeps tapping on that DS. Ryan scowls and gets out of the car, slamming the door a bit too hard as he does so. He doesn't look behind him as he walks to the door, unlocking it before he realises there's no movement behind him.

“Come on!” He shouts. God, does he have to babysit the kid?

“Jesus, no need to shout. I'm right here,” Ray says from – directly behind him, Ryan finds out as he turns around, startled by how close the voice was. “What, did you think I was still in the car?”

Ryan doesn't know how to answer so he doesn't, instead pushing open the door with a little more force than strictly necessary. Okay, so the kid can move practically silently. Good to know. 

If Ryan focuses, he can hear soft footsteps follow him down the dark stairs. He doesn't know _why_ Geoff saddled him with this kid – he couldn't threaten a fly, let alone a fully grown man, and despite the nimbleness of his fingers on the DS, he probably doesn't even know how to toss a knife. He probably doesn't know the first thing about torture, and with Ryan's luck, Ray's probably one of the fainting ones.

Ryan's steps become more of angry stomping as he ponders why the fuck Geoff gave him a kid – probably a _rookie_ , oh my god – to work with. His footsteps echo around the metal hallway and soon enough he's standing in front of Interrogation Room 2, hand on the doorknob. He glances behind him and nearly jumps when he sees Ray staring back attentively, nothing in his hands.

“Uh, through here. We need him to give us the location of his safes.”

“Okay,” Ray says, face still blank – and that's another thing that annoys Ryan, the utter lack of emotion on this kid's face. There's no way he's that jaded yet, and there's no way he needs that good of a pokerface. Ryan suppresses his growl and opens the door.

The guy's tied to a chair, a bag over his head and duct tape around his neck to keep him painfully attached to the chair. There's a table of assorted weapons two metres in front of him, and after Ryan pulls off the bag, that's where he retreats to, running careful fingers over the display of knives. Ray stands silently off to the side. The guy's eyes dart wildly from Ray to Ryan as he starts panicking.

“So,” Ryan starts, selecting a long silver knife and holding it up to run a fingertip over the edge, “this should be simple for you. Tell us where the safes are or I'll hurt you.”

“I – I – I don't know what you're talking about,” the guy stutters, struggling against the ropes.

“Oh, sure you do,” Ryan croons, walking up to the guy and bending over him, a hand on each arm of the chair. The guy whimpers as Ryan stares him down.

Ryan lifts one hand to trace the knife across the guy's exposed collarbone, not cutting, not yet, but not exactly gently, either. If the guy breathes too harshly he'll cut himself. A tear rolls down his cheek and Ryan tuts, his other hand cupping the guy's cheek. He wipes away the tear with his thumb.

“Don't cry, baby,” he says, biting back a smirk at the guy's horrified stare. “It'll all be over soon.”

And with that he cuts a line down the guy's chest, shredding his shirt and spilling blood on the way down. The guy screams and Ryan turns to look back at Ray, smug smile already on his lips, but it falls as soon as he sees Ray, sitting on the table of weapons – an array of guns pushed unkindly to the side – playing on that fucking DS. Ryan growls to himself and whips his head to the guy. The guy flinches but he doesn't say a word.

“You gonna play nice? Or do I have to cut it out of you?”

And just like that, the crybaby act falls away, a manic grin growing in its place.

“I guess you will, _puta_ ,” and he spits at Ryan. “I ain't telling you _nothing_.”

Well, then. Guess he won't break easy.

Good.

\----

Five knives and a gun later and the guy's still not talking – well, he's talking, but not with the right words.

“Aw, come on, is that all you can give me? A few love taps?” He taunts, grinning even though he's spitting blood, his cheek cut up by Ryan's punches.

Ryan adjusts the brass knuckles and punches again, this time straight in the neck and the guy groans. Ryan knows for a fact that at least two of his ribs are broken and the gunshot through his foot didn't do any good except make the guy complain about his new leather shoes through involuntary tears.

He's not cracking and it's _infuriating_. Ryan's met tough guys, but someone's gotta be holding something over this guy's head – he's getting beat up just for the location of two safes. Ryan stands slightly to the side of the guy so he can press on his wounded shoulder with one hand while he punches with the other.

“Oh my _god_ , can we just _go_ already?” Ray asks, the first thing he's said since he entered the room, drawing both Ryan's and the guy's attention to him. Ryan cocks an eyebrow and Ray holds up his DS with a shrug.

“I'm almost out of battery,” he explains, except it's not an explanation at all, it's a _distraction_ and Ryan doesn't need anyone _distracted_ right now. Ray goes back to his DS and Ryan snarls and turns back to the man, punching him in the jaw for good measure because holy _fuck_ nothing winds him up like Ray, it seems, even though he's only known the kid for a few hours.

The guy just laughs once he's spit out more blood, looking up at Ray.

“Is this what Ramsey sends? An attack dog and a little kid? _Idiota_.”

Ryan's pulling back for another swing when a knife flies through the air and lands perfectly in the guy's shoulder, right into the bundle of nerves just under the edge of the collarbone, and the guy shouts abruptly. Ryan looks over to Ray, but he's still playing on the DS, legs crossed at the ankles and swinging lazily.

“Ooh, I'm so scared,” the guy pants, but the twinge of his neck betrays his façade. His confidence is shrinking. Ryan grins and leans over to _twist_ the knife and oh, the ragged edge to this scream shows just how close to broken this guy is. He lifts his eyes to Ray and returns back to standing, leaving the guy exposed for Ray.

Ray glances up from his game briefly, eyes flicking from Ryan to the guy's other shoulder and back to the DS. He doesn't do anything for a few seconds and Ryan considers punching the guy again, but then Ray's right hand drops to the knives scattered next to his hip, idly picking up a small black one and flipping it without even looking. Ryan watches, rapt, as Ray lines up the shot, glancing up for less than half a second before he's glued back to the DS. He tosses it and it embeds itself in the matching set of nerves in the other shoulder, pulling another agonised shout from the man. It's unexpectedly hot, watching Ray handle his knives like an extension of his body, and Ryan feels heat crawl up his spine.

 _Not now_ , he reminds himself. _Later_.

But he does see the kid's strategy – silent but deadly. Suddenly his perspective on the kid changes and Ryan sees how lethal Ray would be on the field, quiet and unnoticeable and scarily accurate.

Ryan appraises the kid for a quiet second before turning back to the guy, placing himself squarely between him and Ray. He grins as he looks down into wide eyes, the genuine terrified breathing that puffs out of the guy's mouth now.

“Well, now, you gonna talk or do I have to try a little harder?” Ryan drawls, letting his voice drop into that Texas swing he uses sometimes. “I got all day. And so does he.” Ryan jerks his head towards Ray and the guy starts sputtering, tripping over his own words.

Ryan reaches up and twists the new knife, relishing the scream it tugs from the guy. Ryan goes to twist the other one and the guy shouts, gasping out words before Ryan can actually do anything.

“I'll talk! I'll talk! Please, please, just – no more, please,” he begs, dropping his head to stare at his lap.

“Okay then,” Ryan shrugs, the movement pulling slightly at the knife, “talk.”

The guy sucks in a shaky breath and talks.

“The – The first safe is in – in my house, the – uh – the attic – the attic, I swear, I swear!” The last part yelled out as Ryan slowly twists the knife again.

“The second is in the casino – under the – the poker table.”

“Which poker table?” Ryan growls, quickly growing tired of this idiot.

“The – The private one! Next to the office!' The guy flinches as Ryan leans in closer, studying him.

A moment later, Ryan pulls back, straightening to his full, intimidating height as he crosses his arms.

“If you're lying, we know where to find you. Remember that,” he warns.

Ryan turns on his heel and starts stashing weapons in the duffel bag under the table while the guy whimpers behind him. Ray slides off the table and wanders off somewhere – Ryan doesn't know where until he hears the sob behind him, and when he turns, he sees Ray casually inspecting the knife he's just pulled out of the guy's shoulder, shrugging to himself before he retrieves the other one.

“Here you go,” he says, and promptly tosses them to Ryan, blades sinking into the wood of the table.

Ryan glances at them and offers a small “Thanks” as he picks them up.

“We'll be back to let you out later,” Ryan says as he slings the bag over his shoulder, smirking at the guy as he turns to the stairs. “Don't wait up for us, sweet-cheeks.” Complete with a flirty wink and then Ryan starts up the stairs, Ray ghosting along behind him.

Ryan's humming cheerfully to himself as he locks the warehouse door, unlocking the car door with a subtle press of a button. He swivels on his heel to find Ray already getting in the car, tugging out his phone as he closes the door. Ryan dumps the bag in the backseat before crossing to the driver's side, starting the engine up with a relieved sigh.

It's a quiet drive back, too quiet for Ryan's liking, but he tunes out the gentle tap-tap of fingers on the passenger side and avoids biting on his own lip so much.

“Oh, hey, drop me here,” Ray says, and Ryan tosses him a puzzled look before pulling off to the curb, right next to a dingy alleyway surrounding by dirty storefronts. Ray types out something on his phone and pockets it, opening the door and unfolding himself from the car.

“Tell Geoff I said hi,” he says, leaning down to peer into the car. “See you around.” And he closes the door and walks away.

Ryan stares after him for too long, watches as he disappears into the alley and darkness shrouds him.

He shakes himself out of it and eases back onto the road, brushing away the thoughts of the silent, mysterious kid.

\----

Ryan takes a sharp right, skidding along the gravel before his legs catch up and he bolts down the boardwalk, sticking close to the bushes in hopes to evade the police. The rocket launcher thumps heavily against his back and his heart pumps in time with the shrill police sirens after him.

A glance back tells him the chopper's still searching for him – well, him and the rest of the crew, but Jack and Geoff got out as soon as they got the money, leaving Michael, Gavin, and Ryan to clean up the guards.

So far the plan's working perfectly.

Static crackles in his ear and then a voice fights through it – Michael's.

“We're under the pier, how's it going?”

“Oh, you know, not too bad,” Ryan pants, vaulting over a fence to land firmly on the beach. “Could be better.”

“Yeah, I feel you.”

“I'm losing the cops, though,” Ryan says as he watches the chopper look in the wrong direction. “I'm coming to you.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Michael says and goes off.

Five strenuous minutes later – look, running on sand _really_ makes your thighs burn – Ryan's slowing to a jog under the pier, zigzagging through the pillars until he sees the distant glow of a cigarette.

He slows to a walk, taking off his mask to run a hand through his sweaty hair as he approaches them.

“Hey, you made it,” Michael grins, cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth. Gavin shivers next to him, pulling Michael's heavy leather jacket tighter around himself. And then, Ryan notices, there's Ray.

Well. He didn't know Ray was on this job with them.

But he must be, judging by the smile on his face as he laughs at something Gavin mutters quietly, some sort of gun slung over his chest. He turns to Ryan and whoa – Ryan...was not prepared for how good the kid looks when he smiles. Ray's smile falters as Ryan stares for a beat too long, and Ryan coughs to cover it, turning back to Michael.

“He was in on this?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sniper,” Michael explains, blowing out smoke through his nose. It curls up into the cold night air and disappears into the faint fog around them.

“Well, now we're all here we should probably leave, yeah?” Gavin says, raising an eyebrow. “X-Ray, you got our ride?”

“Oh, you bet I do, Vav,” Ray responds, digging a set of keys out of his pocket. He spins them around a finger. “I got this baby.”

“Oh god, please don't tell me it's the Roosevelt,” Michael groans, spitting out his cigarette and crushing it under his shoe.

“Only the best for you, Michael,” Ray smirks, and Michael pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that? You don't _want_ a ride? Okay,” Ray shrugs, turning to walk away.

“No, no, I do, I do.”

“Oh?”

Michael falls to one knee, hands clasped in front of him. “Oh most benevolent Ray, would you perhaps grant me a ride in your transport?” He smiles, broad and completely unconvincing, but Ray laughs, gestures for him to stand up.

“I suppose you can then, Michael.”

Ryan stays silent, but he's really hoping the Roosevelt isn't what he thinks it is.

\----

The Roosevelt is exactly what Ryan thinks it is.

He was hoping maybe it was a nickname or a joke or something, not the actual shitty car, but here he is, in the passenger seat of a creek brown (shit brown), slow as fuck Roosevelt, barely reaching the speed limit as Ray navigates them back to the base.

Ryan glances behind him to see Gavin shiver again, leaning into Michael.

“Gavin, are you still cold?” He asks, furrowing his brows.

“It's okay,” Gavin says, but he opens part of the jacket to show Ryan a worryingly large bloodstain on his shirt. “Got a little knife in me.”

“He's fine,” Michael assures, and Gavin tugs the jacket back around himself. “It didn't hit any organs, more of a surface wound really. Just bled a lot.”

Ryan nods slowly and turns back to the front, rolling down the window slightly to feel the night breeze.

He thinks.

Ray clearly knows Michael and Gavin – Geoff, too, and by extension, Jack. No one's told Ryan who Ray really is, so he can only assume Ray's worked with them before, but they seem too friendly to just be colleagues. Maybe it's just because they're younger, but Ryan senses something deeper. Distantly he wonders if Ray's ever been in a crew, he's so young, but he doubts it.

He doubts, suddenly, how come he's never heard of this 'Ray' before.

\----

The first order of business when they get back is setting Gavin up on the sofa, Michael immediately gathering supplies to clean him up with as Ryan hauls in guns to clean. It's Jack's turn to clean the guns this time – Ryan did it last time, and Michael the time before that – so Ryan just dumps them on the floor next to the sofa.

Michael carefully unbuttons Gavin's shirt and Ryan winces as he watches Michael rubs the alcohol on a little too harshly. He's doing it out of concern, though, he just tends to be a bit rougher after the initial panic of seeing blood on someone.

Ryan retreats to the kitchen to grab himself some water – hey, heisting gets you thirsty – and Ray follows him, standing beside him and pulling out his DS.

“Damn, it's out of battery,” he says, dropping it onto the counter and taking out his phone.

Ryan appraises Ray as he fiddles with the phone, eyeing the casual way the rifle rests over Ray's back, a surprising pink that...actually doesn't really surprise Ryan, given the pink DS and the creek brown (shit brown) car.

Ray shrugs off the rifle, lifting the strap over his head and swinging the gun around to lean it against a cupboard down near his knee. It's so casual, the way he handles it, the simple nonchalance as his fingers wrap around the barrel.

“Hey, can you show me the rifle?” Ryan asks, surprising even himself with the question and Ray too, judging by the sudden jerk of his head to look at Ryan.

“Uh, yeah,” Ray says, pocketing his phone and picking up the rifle again. “It's just a basic rifle. I've modded it a bit, more powerful bullets, better aim, but not much.”

“More powerful bullets?”

“Yeah, look.” Ray deftly pulls back the slide, easily thumbing out a bullet and holding it up to Ryan. “Different base. Goes straighter.”

“Huh. Interesting. And you did that yourself?”

“Well, I came up with the idea, but someone else makes the bullets for me. I haven't got time for that.” Ray locks the bullet back in and clicks the safety off and on again.

Ryan's eyes are drawn to the lazy curl of Ray's fingers around the grip, the delicate bones of his wrist a sharp contrast to the scarred grip. It's casually hot – to Ryan, at least – and Ryan sucks in a dizzying breath and tries to pull himself together before Ray notices his staring.

Although he must have noticed a little bit, because Ryan swears he sees a twitch of a smirk on Ray's face as he tightens his grip, the muscles in his forearm standing out with the motion.

Or maybe Ryan's just a little distracted right now and – is his throat dry?

He gulps and looks away, setting down his glass as he clears his throat.

“Well, uh, that's – certainly clever.” Ryan pauses for a breath. “I'll go check on Gavin.”

“Cool,” Ray says, and Ryan leaves him in the kitchen.

\----

Later finds him with a thigh shoved up between Ray's, kissing him up against the wall for all he's worth.

Okay, maybe he should backtrack a bit.

Geoff and Jack came home fine, and Michael patched Gavin up just fine. There was dinner and there was a celebration and Geoff invited Ray to stay the night.

And it was all fine while they went to bed, perfectly fine. Except Ryan couldn't sleep and had taken to pacing his room, making circuits around the space next to the bed.

Except where he went wrong is that he left his toothbrush in the hallway bathroom because that's the one he used this morning, instead of his en suite – which was still uncomfortably hot and steamy after his shower. So when he went to brush his teeth and try to sleep – better than pacing, by any rate – he had to venture out of his room to retrieve his toothbrush, and that wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't walked into Ray on the way there.

Ray, who looked perfectly awake and probably just got up to take a leak or something, but something about him caught Ryan's eye and he couldn't look away from the sliver of skin he could see where Ray's pyjama bottoms had slid down.

They stopped and Ryan awkwardly looked back up at Ray and there was a tense beat, two, before he was going for Ray and Ray was going to him, Ray's hands flying to his elbows as Ryan turned to box him into the wall.

And, well, they kissed.

And then they moved to Ryan's room.

And here they are.

Ray kisses back eagerly as he grinds against Ryan's thigh, shuddering as Ryan breaks from his lips to trail teeth down his throat, the tendons. Ray's hands curl tightly around Ryan's hips, fingers inching under his sweats as Ryan presses into him, hot and hard.

Ryan growls and spins them, carefully backing Ray up to the bed and Ray crumples onto it as soon as his knees hit the edge, dragging down Ryan with him.

Ryan shoves up Ray's shirt and there are hands tugging off his own, tossing it to the side. Ryan kisses Ray again, groaning quietly as Ray opens easily to him, hands wrapped around Ryan's arms on either side of him.

With a reluctant grunt, Ryan pulls away, shimmying down Ray's body and roughly pushing up his shirt to kiss down the bumps of his ribs, breathing softly out over Ray's skin to watch him shudder underneath him. When he makes his way to Ray's hips, he pulls down the pyjama bottoms, Ray lifting up to help Ryan slide them over his ass, briefs following soon after and Ryan presses a chaste kiss to Ray's left hip as he looks up at him, wide brown eyes locked on his own.

Ryan grins and plants a hand beside Ray's hip, the other coming up to steady his cock as Ryan licks a wide stripe over the head, pulling a gasp from Ray. He wastes no time sucking the head into his mouth, pleased at the rough noise that Ray makes.

Looking up, he sees the wide eyes and the mussed hair and the bob of Ray's Adam's apple as he swallows, one hand clutching the bedsheets as the other grips Ryan's shoulder.

Well, this is a new sight.

Ryan goes down until the head is pushing at his throat, repeats the circuit up and down, up and down, tracing patterns up the underside vein with his tongue and each time swallowing Ray down a little more. Ray moans above him, hips twitching erratically as he tries not to thrust – Ryan appreciates the gesture, but he's not exactly a gentle guy – and as Ryan sucks him down again he doesn't stop, swallowing around the thick head as his nose presses against Ray's pubes.

Okay, he may have done that a little too soon. The stretch is a little harsh – he hasn't deepthroated in a while – but fuck it. If a raspy voice is all he has to deal with to see Ray groan and that pretty pink mouth fall open on a gasp, then it's _so_ worth it.

He swallows once, twice, before he chokes and – oh, that's interesting. Ryan pauses halfway up Ray's dick, narrows his eyes up at Ray before sinking back down, choking himself again, a rough, messy noise that breaks through the almost silence around them.

And, yeah, he wasn't imagining the little hurt whimper Ray gave at the sound. So little Ray's got a thing for guys choking on his cock, huh?

Well, that's certainly an interesting tidbit Ryan'll save for later, when he hasn't been quite so rough on his throat – as it is, he has to pull off or risk losing his voice.

“Stuff's over there,” he says, jerking his chin to gesture at the drawer, and fuck, is his voice wrecked. It sends a visible shiver through Ray as Ryan rises to his knees, shuffling in closer between Ray's legs.

He watches those lean muscles twist as Ray turns to open the drawer, carelessly dragging out a strip of condoms and tossing them down by his hip, lube following soon after. Ray props himself up on his elbows and tilts his head at Ryan, clearly waiting.

“Well? You gonna do something or just stare at me all night?”

Ryan shakes himself from his brief trance and grabs the lube, popping open the cap before he takes another look at the line of Ray's body, unfortunately interrupted by his shirt.

“Take your shirt off,” Ryan says, pouring lube on his fingers as Ray shrugs, awkwardly tugging off his shirt but all Ryan can think of is the way those arms brace against the rifle, those shoulders flexing with the weight of the gun on them, the effortless way those fingers curled around _Ryan's_ knives.

Ryan covers his sudden breathlessness with his fingers, pressing them wet up against Ray's hole and biting his lip at how _easily_ Ray spreads his legs.

The kid's all skin and bones under him, legs open and chest stuttering as Ryan pushes in a finger. Ryan hikes up a leg over his other elbow, forcing him open even _wider_ and _fuck_ that sight should be _illegal_.

“Fuckin' – I'm not gonna break, Ryan, get _on_ with it,” Ray groans, and Ryan immediately slides in another finger but his mind's caught on five words back, the way Ray's low voice dragged out his name, smoothing the syllables together in a way that sounded so _natural_ Ryan's surprised he's never heard Ray say his name before.

Ryan crooks his fingers up and grins at the moan it pulls out, pitch falling as Ryan rubs over his prostate harder. He relents after a second or two, adding another finger – too soon by Ray's slight wince, but he doesn't say anything so Ryan just stays still, letting Ray adjust around the stretch of his thick fingers, knuckles slick against his rim.

Ray looks up at Ryan and Ryan's hit with such a sudden rush of heat he nearly doubles over, cock aching hard between his legs and dribbling out pre-come. Ray's glasses are skewed and his hair's a mess but Ryan can't stare for long because then he twists his fingers and Ray's head falls back against the pillow, exposing the smooth curve of his throat and fuck, Ryan's done for.

He withdraws his fingers to Ray's quiet whimper and leans over Ray, bracing himself on his elbows as he kisses up the line of Ray's throat, lips pressing softly to his thudding pulse before he acts on a certain hunch he got five minutes ago. Ryan bites over Ray's jugular gently, and Ray's hands fly to his back, one even tangling in his hair, and Ryan smirks against the sweat-damp skin. God, he was so right.

Ryan brushes his teeth over the skin, sucking firmly to raise a hickey, and Ray gasps, hand tightening in Ryan's hair to keep him there. Ryan stays gladly, sucking for another ten seconds before pulling back with a light kiss, moving up to the bolt of Ray's jaw, growling as he bites down on the bone – a little more harshly than he intended, but Ray jerks under him and tilts his head further, fucking _presenting_ himself and Ryan has to close his eyes at the thought.

He trails wet kisses up Ray's jaw and up to his mouth and Ray meets him eagerly, kissing him back hot and fierce, teeth scraping over Ryan's bottom lip and tongue darting over his own. Ray pulls back with a grunt, Ryan chasing him down for another kiss before Ray speaks, wet lips catching on Ryan's own as he forms the words.

“For god's sake, Ryan, just fuck me already.”

Ryan chuckles at the thread of impatience underlining the words and Ray growls, fingers going painfully tight in Ryan's hair and Ryan nods, pressing his smile back into Ray's lips before pushing himself up.

He snags a condom from the strip, carefully rolling it on and he doesn't even notice what Ray's doing until a warm, lube-slick palm wraps around him, slicking him from base to tip and sliding a stray thumb over the head, Ray grinning at the involuntary twitch of Ryan's dick in his hand.

“All right, cowboy,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. “Show me what you got.”

Ryan hooks Ray's legs over his shoulders as he presses in, slow and steady and unrelenting as he forces Ray to open up to him. He does, fucking beautifully, forehead creasing as he clenches around Ryan. He moans when Ryan's all the way in, ankles hooking behind Ryan's neck.

Ryan counts to five in his head and then slides out to push back in, building up a slow rhythm until Ray's started making noise again, quiet moans and shaky breaths as his eyes rake over Ryan's body.

“Ready for more?” Ryan asks, one hand tight on Ray's hip.

“Hell yeah,” Ray manages a cocky smirk, but the next snap of Ryan's hips wipes that right off in favour of a groan.

Ryan angles himself differently and tests a few directions until he's clearly hitting the right spot, Ray arching up and his mouth falling open.

Ray's legs slip down to his elbows as Ryan bends over, one elbow braced on the bed next to Ray's ribs as his other stays on his hip, his mouth falling to Ray's collarbone.

His thrusts get stronger, faster, with every sound punched out of Ray, slim thighs tensing against Ryan's biceps and toes curling in the air – Ryan glances back to check and grins when he sees it. Ray's nails rake a hot line across Ryan's shoulder blades as they flex under his fingers, his other hand threading into Ryan's hair again.

It's fucking amazing how Ray shudders underneath him, how _responsive_ he is to Ryan's touch. Ryan sucks more hickeys into his neck and Ray moans, fumbling down between their bodies to stroke himself, knuckles bumping up against Ryan's navel.

Soon Ryan's panting too heavily to kiss Ray's throat, huffing out openly over the sensitive expanse of Ray's neck, lifting his head to kiss Ray full-on as he fucks into him harder, moaning low with the effort and the curl of pleasure snaking up his spine and settling into his bones.

Ray whines softly against Ryan's lips and his hand speeds up between them, making him squeeze around Ryan and startle a groan out of him. It's not long before Ray's moaning his name between half-taken breaths, shaking underneath him as Ryan presses his forehead to Ray's neck, mumbling nonsense under his breath between kisses.

“Yeah, c'mon Ray, come on,” he mutters, hand slipping in the sweat on Ray's hip.

Ray comes with a sharp groan and a shudder, wet heat spurting up between their chests. He clenches hard around Ryan and Ryan grunts, burying himself in Ray as Ray practically milks his orgasm from him, hot into the condom.

Ryan roughly knocks Ray's hand away from his cock and wraps his own around it, forcing a few last spurts from Ray that come with a surprisingly high-pitched moan as Ray hits oversensitivity.

Their panting fills the room for a few tense seconds before Ryan relaxes, pushing himself up over Ray and pulling out with a wince. He lets Ray's legs slide down and hit the bed, knees still splayed carelessly as Ray props himself up on his elbows.

“Fuck, that was good,” he says, and Ryan nods, smirking.

“Yeah, it was,” he replies.

It's a shock to see the kid without his usual poker face, but it's a nice surprise to see he has actual emotion.

Ryan carefully takes the condom off, tying it before tossing it in the general direction of the bin. It hits the metal with a satisfying thud and Ryan feels himself grin smugly. Ray rolls his eyes and Ryan falls down next to him, turning onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Ray turns onto his side, back facing Ryan, and shoves a hand under the pillow.

“G'night,” he says, and promptly falls quiet, presumably asleep.

Ryan – well, Ryan's just had great sex; he can't really bring himself to complain, so he just pulls a blanket up over them and closes his eyes.

\----

Ryan twirls his pistol around his finger, whistling innocently as he paces by the door. The hostages cower and whimper, shuffling uselessly on their knees.

Ryan doesn't miss the guy in the back, hand sneaking down under his jacket because he thinks Ryan can't see him. Like Ryan doesn't have basic peripheral vision. Ryan scoffs. He's almost offended.

He stops the twirling abruptly and points it at the guy.

“I wouldn't try that if I were you,” he says, cocking his head at the visible tremour that goes through the guy. “It won't be long now.”

It really shouldn't be long now – they're just robbing a bank, which, okay, this bank may be in rival territory, but Jack wanted to prove a point and so here they are, posturing on another gang's land. Ryan glances at the clock on the wall behind the hostages. Two minutes left.

Unfortunately for Ryan, Geoff doesn't want any civilian deaths this time, so the hostages will be fine if they don't try anything.

Ryan resumes his pacing and spinning, humming absent-mindedly under his breath.

The building shakes around him and the hostages scream. Ryan scrambles to press the mic button on the earpiece, but feedback squeals and instead he rips it out, wincing at the echo of the feedback in his brain. The building shudders again and, okay – this isn't part of the plan.

Ryan squares his shoulders and points his gun at the hostages again, trying to act like this is totally the plan, except it _isn't_ and the next explosion is awfully close.

The door next to Ryan slams open with the force of Ray crashing into it backwards, guns in both hands, dust and plaster clinging to his hair and his glasses.

“We need to go,” he pants, looking at Ryan before launching himself forward, back into the other room.

Ryan, not one to dally when what are now clearly _bombs_ are going off around him, follows Ray. He leaves the hostages behind – they'll make their own way out. Or maybe not. Ryan doesn't really care.

“What happened?!” He yells above the noise of the explosions, ducking to avoid a collapsing doorway as they sprint through it.

“FH found out! They knew!” Ray shouts back, and that brings up more questions than answers but Ryan's too busy running for his fucking _life_ to ask any of them.

Heavy marble cracks above them as they skid through an archway, the stone shattering behind them as they hurry to run away. Ray twists down hallways, Ryan hot on his heels as they dash down corridors with buckling walls and creaking wood. Something explodes terrifyingly close and a door bursts behind Ryan, the shockwave propelling him forward so he nearly crashes into Ray. His ears ring fiercely and he nearly runs into a lift shaft before Ray reaches out to tug him sharply to the right.

They pound down what's left of the stairs as the building combusts above them, fire erupting out of windows and embers hailing down onto them. The bank shakes violently, one last judder before it inevitably collapses. Ray shoves through the partially shattered glass doors and they sprint into the street, Ryan sparing a glance behind him before Ray's yelling at him to “go, go, go!” and Ryan _does_ go, diving behind a car as the building explodes in a dangerous hail of marble and metal.

Ray managed to duck behind the same car and, as if on instinct, Ryan grabs him, pulls him close as if to shield him with his body. A chunk of fiery metal bounces past them and collides with the house in front of them.

“I've got Ryan,” Ray mutters into his earpiece, huddled into Ryan's shoulder. “Which safehouse?” A beat and then, “Yeah, okay, see you there,” and Ray clicks off, inching back and glancing around before threading his fingers through Ryan's and pulling him up.

“Let's go,” he says before tugging and then they're running again, through dark streets and darker alleys, Ray's hand gradually slipping from his.

Ten minutes later, Ray brings them to a halt in front of a run-down storefront on the east side of Los Santos. An old pawn shop sign hangs from one nail, creaking ominously in the cold wind around them. Ray pushes in, a rusty bell tinkling roughly with the door. Dust swirls up from their footprints, dancing in the faint moonlight.

This must be the safehouse, but Ryan's never heard of this one. He didn't even know there _was_ one this close.

Ray leads them down to the basement, where darkness envelopes them like a shroud, but Ray seems to know the way. He grabs Ryan's hand again and leads him through what seems like a maze, perhaps tunnels, until Ryan's all turned around and thoroughly lost amongst brick and stone. Cars roar above them and Ryan knows they're below the street now – are they near a subway?

He never finds out, because then they resurface five minutes later in a desolate industrial park, plastic bags tumbling in the wind across empty roads. Ray urges him forward and drops his hand as he open the door to one of the warehouses. It swings open surprisingly easily on its hinges.

Two flights of stairs and nearly falling into a huge hole in the floor later and they're in what was clearly an old storage room, rows of metal shelving screwed firmly to the wall. A light glows in the corner and Ryan squints to see Gavin, features highlighted by the laptop in front of him.

“Is it just you two?” He asks, placing the computer on the floor beside him.

“So far,” Ray replies, setting his rifle and shotgun against the wall. Gavin unfolds himself from his criss-cross and comes towards them, and as he gets closer Ryan can see the worry drawn in his face.

Gavin stops in front of them and his eyes flick between them. Ray, Ryan, Ray, Ryan.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

“No,” Ryan says, glancing at Ray for his answer.

Ray shrugs. “I'll live. Few scratches, nothin' serious.”

“Oh thank god,” Gavin says, and then surprises Ryan with a hug, arms wrapped tight around him. “Thank god there's somebody else,” he says, voice breaking dangerously close to a sob and Ryan hesitates with returning the hug, instead putting his hands on Gavin's shoulders and gently pushing him away.

“Somebody else? Gavin, how long have you been down here?”

“An hour?” Gavin shrugs. “I left as soon as Geoff told me to. No one's answered their comms yet, except you.” He looks at Ray.

“Wait, an hour?” Ryan steps up, one hand dropping from Gavin's shoulder. “It's only been, what, fifteen, twenty minutes since we left the bank? Ray?”

Ray shrugs, licks his lips. Carefully avoids his eyes. “Something came up. FH was waiting for us. The bombs were for after they left.”

“After...Ray, FH were _there_? Are the others okay?” Ryan turns fully to Ray now. “Ray, what the fuck happened?”

“Look, FH knew we were doing this. I don't know how, but they did. And they were...there. When the others got into the safe, they were inside, waiting. I don't - “ Ray swallows and looks pointedly at Ryan's left shoulder. “I don't know what happened – Geoff pushed me out of sight as soon as he realised what was happening. He told Gavin to go and told me to get you.”

“Ray, are they even _alive_?” Ryan's hands curl into fists.

“The FH didn't kill them, if that's what you mean. I don't really know, but I saw them after the bombs went off, which means FH left. So FH didn't, but the bombs...” Ray shrugs again, stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I don't know.” 

It's a tense silence until Gavin claps his hands briskly, fighting through the tremour in his voice to give them orders.

“Well, I could use your help. I need you guys to help sort out the comms. There's a lot of static and I'm hoping one of you can help decipher their locations through all the white noise.”

He's sliding into his technical, hacker persona, the one he uses for heists and surveillance when they need high-tech operations.

It's a welcome distraction, and Ryan nods curtly, Ray agreeing shortly afterward, and they follow Gavin to his laptop in the corner.

\----

They can't get many leads, but Ray uses his comm to repeat which safehouse they're using, hoping that someone will get the message.

Someone must, because the door flies open and Ryan's got a gun trained on the three intruders before he realises it's the rest of the FAHC, and then he's springing up to help because the next thing he realises is that Geoff's dead weight between Michael and Jack.

“We need to get back to base,” Michael pants as he passes off Geoff's arm to Ryan. There's blood smeared on his face and over his leather jacket, but otherwise he seems fine.

Jack looks a little worse for wear, a few nasty bleeding dents in his cheek from what must be brass knuckles, a bruise colouring up over his eye. He's limping, too, but he helps Ryan set Geoff up on an old wooden crate.

Ryan kneels in front of Geoff and hurriedly checks his vitals. Pulse, yes, but faint; breathing, yes; blood, definitely yes; conscious...no?

Geoff cracks an eye open and slurs something unintelligible before pitching forward into Ryan's arms. Ryan pushes him carefully back up and runs his hands down Geoff's suit, feeling for the major wound that must be behind this.

Ryan's distantly aware of people hovering behind him as he finds the injury – a gunshot right under Geoff's ribs, entry but no exit. He's haemorrhaging.

“Yeah, we need to get back,” Ryan says to no one in particular, but everyone bursts into motion.

Someone jacks a car and someone else helps Ryan carry Geoff and someone gets directions and someone nearly falls out of the car as it bounces over off-road terrain.

They screech into the garage, a messy sideways skidding, but people are already getting out, Michael and Gavin jogging ahead to get supplies and set up some sort of order. Ryan and Ray struggle to get Geoff in, Jack going ahead to open the door for them.

Now, because Ryan is smart, he lets Michael and Gavin get to work after he dumps Geoff on the bed in the 'OR' (the spare bedroom Michael and Gavin use for surgery), but he lingers in case they need help. Almost like a nurse, except with more...murder. Jack leaves to get more towels and water.

Except Ray pushes past him where he's leaning against the wall, rolling up his sleeves and fitting in seamlessly between Michael and Gavin's flow of movement. Usually they work as a duo, only really using Ryan or Jack or Geoff to get towels or pass particularly distant instruments, but there Ray is, handing supplies and switching smoothly with Michael to open up the wound more to retrieve the bullet, and then rotating with Gavin, who slides in with clamps, fishing for the bullet while Michael soaks up blood and Ray flicks a needle.

It's a captivating sight, and Ryan can't help watching as the three work, quickly and precisely, to fix Geoff. Ray is the one that eventually gets the bullet out, dropping it unceremoniously in the bowl Michael shoves towards him and backing out of the way as Gavin darts in with a needle and thread. He sews something inside Geoff up with shaky hands, Ray moving clamps as Michael finishes the stitches in whatever organ they're fixing. The stench of blood and antiseptic permeates the room and Ryan's surprised Gavin's lasted this long in this environment. It's not usually this bad or this...pungent.

Michael hooks Geoff up to an IV as Ray mops up blood with a towel, wiping the skin over with antiseptic – Geoff's muscles jerk beneath him – before stitching him up, crooked rows that aren't the prettiest but they work.

The whole process takes a little over an hour and no one asks Ryan for help once.

\----

Geoff doesn't wake up for two days. It's a very tense two days.

Ryan scrubs blood out of Michael's jacket while Michael himself complains about the four stitches above his eye. Gavin swabs alcohol over them and smiles a little at the face Michael pulls, which subsequently pulls at the stitches, which in turn leads to another bout of complaining.

Ray ties a splint to Jack's leg and sets him up on the wide sofa, leg propped up on cushions and blankets with an ice pack over the swollen ankle. The whole apartment smells of antiseptic and stale blood, not a very pleasant combination. The heat doesn't help. Gavin wrinkles his nose almost constantly and Ryan opens the windows in hopes of a breeze in sunny, dry Los Santos.

When Geoff wakes up, groggy and croaky, the first thing he asks for is morphine. He gets water. The next thing he asks for is Ray. He gets Ryan.

“You're no' Ray,” he says, blinking slowly up at Ryan.

“No, I'm not,” Ryan says simply, hands in his pockets. “He went with Michael to sweep the safehouse.”

Geoff grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes. He coughs and winces at the pull on the stitches.

“Do you need anything?” Ryan asks.

“Fucking morphine would be great. Hurts like a bitch,” Geoff coughs, hand clutching weakly at his side.

“Sorry, can't do that. You've been under for two days. We need to make sure you're okay,” Ryan replies, scuffing a foot against the dirty carpet. “Gavin'll be by in a few minutes – he's just reworking the comms.”

Geoff grunts noncommittally and Ryan cracks a smile at his boss's eternal grump. It means Geoff's at least mostly okay.

The week passes slowly, monotonous without heist planning or job assignments. Luckily the monotony is frequently broken by Geoff, always demanding a drink or comfier pillows or _something_ , mostly just to be a little bitch, and when whined at (by Michael), stating his reason as “You're the fucks that got me into this, now you have to get me out of this!”, always answered with an eye roll or a laugh. They don't really mind taking care of him, though.

\----

Ryan and Ray are paired together for the next job – perhaps the simplest possible job Geoff could assign them – and they head north in Ryan's car, way north. They've packed light because they don't expect much trouble; after all, they're just picking up a...package of sorts. Package – such an innocent word for the ridiculous amount of money they're collecting – payment for a job they did a few weeks back.

Geoff put them together because he claims they have “amazing chemistry” and “work as well as dicks together” and, well, Ryan can't help but agree when he ends up in the backseat with Ray, the poor kid's glasses steamed up from all the heat they're generating.

Ryan tilts his head back and pants to the ceiling as Ray sinks down on him again, Ryan's hands buried in his hair to drag him down on his dick. Ray's blowjobs aren't all methodical and clean – they're hot and wet and messy, tongue tracing up the vein then around the head while Ray's lips seal tight so he can suck harder – and they're fucking _mindblowing_. Ryan bites down on the knuckles of his unoccupied hand, catching an embarrassingly loud moan as he bucks up. Ray takes it in stride, swallows around the tip and twists the hand at the base.

Ryan, the fool, dares to look down, and that almost spells his undoing. It's cramped in the backseat, even with the passenger seat shoved forward so Ray can kneel in the footwell, but somehow Ray's managed to fit in there, shoulders hunched a little and neck at an odd angle. If it was up to Ryan, they would be doing this in a more spacious area, but Ray all but dragged him back here and he was so goddamn _eager_ that how could Ryan refuse?

Ray looks like fucking sin incarnate, lips red and wet from – god, Ryan can't even _think_ about it – from sucking cock, _Ryan's_ cock, oh god – and his eyes are almost black-blown, glancing up at Ryan every few strokes, dark and glittering in the weak interior light of the car. And there's spit _everywhere_ , slathered down Ryan's dick and dripping down Ray's knuckles and chin. Ryan's fingers clench hard in Ray's hair and pull him up, off his cock, holding him steady as Ryan catches his breath to speak. Ray's ragged breathing echoes in the small space, a harsh counterpoint to Ryan's own breathlessness.

“I'm gonna come if you keep doing that,” he pants, ignoring the twitch of his dick as Ray lazily strokes his hand up and down it. Ray rolls his eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock. What d'ya _think_ I'm doin' down here?”

“I'm just saying, if you wanted this to go further - “

“And I'm just saying, shut up and enjoy the BJ.” And he doesn't give Ryan a chance to respond, instead diving back down to lick a lewd strip over the head and pulling a pathetic moan from him. Ray grins and pushes the head past his lips again.

Ryan shifts in the seat as his orgasm nears, pooling behind his navel and tingling through his thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against Ray's hand as Ray starts moving faster, hand stroking in time with the obscene bob of his head, slick noises of his mouth reverberating off of the leather seats. It's wet and messy and it's making Ryan choke on all his gasps and groans, whimpering out what he thinks is “God, _Ray_ ” right before he comes. Ray must be able to tell - by the hitch in his voice or the trembling of his thighs or _something_ – and he presses a warm hand up against Ryan's balls, sweet pressure that just inches him over the edge and Ryan comes with a shudder and a moan, shoulders curling off of the seat. Pleasure pulses through his skin and over his cock and Ray _doesn't stop sucking_ , keeping his lips tight and hot around Ryan until Ryan's shivering at the oversensitivity, the nerves feeling fucking fried and he pushes Ray off. Ray pops off with a laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ryan curses softly and his eyes catch on a dab of come in the corner of Ray's mouth. Ray swallows deliberately and licks the drop away with a careful flick of his tongue, grinning as Ryan realises his jaw's still slack. He closes it hurriedly and swallows himself, hoping to bring something to his dry mouth.

“You can pay me back later,” Ray says, still smirking wide. He slithers up from the footwell – a lot more gracefully than Ryan would've – while Ryan's tucking himself in, his dick still spit-wet and half-hard. Ray parks himself next to Ryan and reaches for the door handle, but Ryan fists a hand in his jacket and pulls him around and in to kiss him, teeth clicking together painfully at first contact, but Ray tilts his head and they slot together more smoothly. One of Ray's hands ends up holding onto the back of Ryan's, the one still death-gripping his hoodie.

Ray tastes like come and Ryan's cock, but Ryan doesn't fucking _care_ because if he licks at the space next to Ray's teeth he can taste the gum Ray had after lunch, and under that something that's just _Ray_. It's absolutely intoxicating to Ryan, and he chases the taste with more kisses, his initial ferocity melting into something slower, deeper.

He pulls back first, gasping for air and head spinning with the rush of blood. Ray stares at him and whispers a soft “Wow”. It's a short moment of just...looking at each other, and then Ryan realises he's still strangling Ray's hoodie in his fist, and he lets go, Ray's hand dropping from his the moment he moves.

Ray gets out first, Ryan following a second later, and they return to the front seats.

“So, back to base, I guess,” Ryan says, glancing side-long at Ray. Ray clicks his seatbelt on and slouches back in the seat.

“Yeah,” he says.

Ryan goes to turn the ignition, but he's stopped by a thought.

“Hey, do you want to drive?”

“Can't,” Ray replies with a shrug, looking over at Ryan. “Never learnt.”

Ryan opens his mouth and closes it again. Open, close. He can't – he can't fucking believe Ray hasn't got a licence. He doesn't – what -

“What?!” He settles on, and his surprise is rewarded by Ray's bright laugh.

\----

Ray sticks around – Geoff calls him in for more and more jobs and eventually he's just a given. Ryan secretly wonders if he'll join the crew, if Geoff'll invite him. After all, Ray's amazing in the field, and to top it all, he gets along with everybody on the crew – it's pretty obvious he's known them for a while, probably even before Ryan joined two years ago.

As it is, Michael's planning a heist – a bank to make up for the one that failed two months ago. Geoff's still not fully healed, so Michael sticks him in the helicopter with Jack, uses him as gunner. He pairs Gavin and Ray together, places them two streets over to serve as a distraction for the cops when they come. That leaves Michael and Ryan actually robbing the bank.

The job goes fairly smoothly, for the most part.

Ryan shoots blindly behind him as he and Michael pound up the stairs, cheap rent-a-guards following closely after them. Nothing can beat an SMG, though, and Ryan unloads the clip as they burst onto the roof, wind whipping brutally at their hair, their faces, as they race towards the cargobob hook. Michael tosses a pack of bombs to Ryan – Ryan catches them and throws them towards the door to the fire escape, holding tightly onto the detonator as he grabs onto the rope next to Michael. Michael secures an arm around Ryan's shoulders, helping him balance as Jack pulls away, lifting them off the roof and above the terrifying drop to the street. Ryan detonates the bombs as police swarm through the door, smirking at the explosion of blood and fire that ensues.

“Nice,” Michael shouts over the roar of the wind and the cargobob blades. Ryan smiles in response and drops the detonator, finally using his second hand to grasp onto the rope. Michael grunts as Ryan shifts, recovering his arm and twisting the rope around his forearm. Their feet dangle below them and it's terrifyingly thrilling, Michael whooping as Jack veers around skyscrapers, the hook flying dangerously close to some of those glass walls.

Jack swings around to the ocean and hovers for a moment while Michael and Ryan jump off, diving into the frigid water. Michael comes up spluttering and gasping, saluting the cargobob above them as he treads water. The cargobob spins around and races back to the city to help Gavin and Ray.

Ryan and Michael swim back to shore, only pausing for a moment to catch their breath – Michael flopping down in the sand and Ryan bracing himself on his knees – before they have to move again, running – more like jogging – to the road and hijacking the nearest car.

“Fuck, remind me to never swim in a heist again,” Michael says as he drops into the driver's seat, dripping wet as he starts the car.

“Yeah, fucking remind me, too,” Ryan agrees, wiping blood off his knuckles as he looks at the owner of the car, lying in the street behind them. Then Michael adjusts the mirror and Ryan can only see scenery.

“All right, I said corner of Liberty and West Vinewood, didn't I?” Michael mutters, back wheels drifting as he takes a sharp U-turn. “Let's see if those fuckers are there.”

\----

Those fuckers are indeed there, Gavin smiling brightly from his perch on his bike and Ray playing some game on his phone.

“Hey! Guys! Are the cops still after you?” Michael shouts out the window as he rolls to a stop.

“Yeah,” Ray calls back, sounding completely unbothered. “They'll figure out where we are in about two minutes.”

“Get in, then!” Michael says. Gavin pushes the bike onto its side and strolls over, Ray following a moment later, finally putting his phone away.

“You all have guns, right?” Michael asks as the doors close and he starts to pull away.

“Yeah, 'course,” Gavin says, pulling out a pistol. Michael rolls his eyes and glances in the side mirror.

“Ray, Ryan, please tell me you have _real_ guns.”

“Yeah,” they reply in unison. Ryan gets his SMG out – it's wet, but it'll work – and he glances back to see Ray steadying a carbine rifle out the window. Gavin pouts next to him.

“Thank god,” Michael says, easing onto the highway and flooring it, slamming them back in their seats.

“That's not nice, Michael,” Gavin whines, but the smile teasing at the corners of his eyes betrays him.

“Shut up, Gavin,” Michael replies, but he shoots him a grin in the rearview mirror. “Okay boys, shoot on sight.”

“'Boys'? What are you, Geoff?”

“Shut up, Ray.”

\----

“We should race sometime,” Gavin says through his mouthful of popcorn, munching loudly beside Ryan.

“Like, in real life or...” Ryan gestures at the TV with the controller in his hands.

“Nah, real life. Y'know, around the town or som'thin', m'ybe - “ he drowns out his next words with munching and Ryan glances over at him, raising an eyebrow. Gavin laughs, crumbs spraying out over his hand, and he wipes them away and swallows before speaking again. “Maybe around the mountains.”

“Ah,” Ryan says, and kills a Spartan.

Tonight it's just Gavin and him and Halo, one controller between the two of them as they try single-player challenges. Ryan likes these nights, even if he'll never admit it to Gavin's face, but he thinks Gavin knows.

Ryan dies and swears, pushing the controller towards Gavin.

“All right, your turn,” he says, settling back into the sofa as Gavin leans forward. He scoops up a handful of popcorn and shovels it ungracefully into his mouth. He washes it down with the Diet Coke on the side table, almost knocking down Gavin's beer in the process.

Gavin dies with an abrupt scream and flustered sputtering, and Ryan almost chokes on a kernel he's laughing so hard.

“He bloody _murdered_ me, Ryan, did you _see_ that?!”

Ryan nods and cackles as Gavin tosses out a few choice words, subsiding into quiet grumbling as he restarts the game.

“What the fuck? Oh, that's just not _fair_!” As Gavin dies again, flinging himself backwards into the sofa violently, slapping the controller onto Ryan's lap. “You do this one.”

Ryan picks up the controller and from where Gavin left off, ducking into cover as soon as the game loads.

“You never answered my question,” Gavin says a few minutes later, cross-legged on the sofa now, popcorn bowl settled between his legs.

“You never asked a question,” Ryan replies, smiling as Gavin groans exasperatedly.

“You know what I mean! Do you want to race sometime?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” Ryan shrugs.

“Cool,” Gavin says, and reaches behind Ryan for his beer.

With a grenade and a well-timed action roll, Ryan beats the challenge, Gavin cheering as the achievement pops up on the bottom of the screen.

\----

Geoff summons Ryan into his office one night, closing the door carefully behind them before he sinks into his chair.

“I feel like I'm in trouble,” Ryan says, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Geoff laughs and shakes his head.

“No, no, not in trouble. I just need you to do something for me.” He pulls out a file from the stack on his desk and holds it out to Ryan. “A little assassin job. One person, be discreet.” Ryan takes the file and opens it.

“What did he - “ Ryan's eyes land on the picture and he corrects himself “ - she do?"

Geoff shrugs. “She was the mole for FH. Been double crossing us. Now listen, I want it quick and quiet. No calling cards, no names, nothing. They'll know who did it.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, and shuts the file. “Anything else?”

“No, that was it. You can go.” Geoff dismisses him with a wave and swivels back to his desk.

Ryan turns to leave but stops, shuffles around to face Geoff again.

“Actually, I have a question,” he says.

“Yeah?” Geoff doesn't look back, instead booting up his computer.

“Is Ray...are you – Are you going to invite him to the crew?”

Geoff turns around now, a smarmy grin on his face.

“What, big ol' Vagabond got a soft spot for the kid?” He teases, smirk growing wider as Ryan blushes, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

“No, I was just – I was just asking. I mean, he's good, and he clearly knows you guys. I don't know, I just thought – I don't know. Sorry.”

“No, no, don't apologise,” Geoff steeples his fingers and studies Ryan for a moment. “But no, I'm not going to invite him.”

“Why?” Ryan blurts out, immediately regretting it. But he doesn't have a chance before Geoff reacts, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head ever so slightly to the right.

“I think you need to ask Gavin about that.”

“Gavin? What would he know?”

Geoff shrugs, spins back around to his desk. “Ask him.”

Ryan lingers for a moment before leaving, shutting Geoff's door quietly behind him.

\----

Ryan's honestly just trying to sleep – closest he's got to the damn elusive thing – when his door creaks open and someone slides into his bed, tugging some blanket over onto them.

“What the fuck?!” Ryan whispers, starting to roll over so his back isn't facing whoever's in his bed.

“Shut up, Michael took my bed,” the whoever grumbles back, and it takes Ryan too long to realise that that scratchy sleepy voice belongs to _Ray_.

“Take his bed, then,” Ryan rasps, looking at Ray's back.

“Why d'ya think he's in my bed? Asshole spilled beer all over his.”

Ryan sighs, shoves an arm under the pillow to ease the bend in his neck. “Whatever,” he says, and settles onto his back, praying that whatever sleep he was close to, returns.

It fucking doesn't, of course, and Ryan falls into this weird half-doze that lasts for over half the night, until his arm gets sore and he has to turn onto his side, facing Ray, who's fast asleep on the other side of the pillow, glasses awry where his face is pushed into the pillow. Ryan scoffs and gently pries the glasses off, carefully propping himself up and reaching over to place them on the bedside table.

When he lands back in the bed, he doesn't realise how close he is to Ray until he's almost eye-to-eye with him. He can feel the warmth radiating off of Ray, the gentle puff of his slow breathing. Ryan gulps and inches back a little, makes to roll over – but Ray scoots closer, forehead butting into Ryan's chin and he shifts so he can nose at Ryan's neck, slotting himself under Ryan's jaw and curling into him.

Ryan – doesn't know what to do, but after a minute of his hand hovering awkwardly above them, he decides _fuck it_ and lays it over Ray, wrapping it over his waist and tucking his fingers between Ray's hip and the mattress.

He'll deal with it in the morning.

\----

Ryan discovers, shortly after he resisted the urge to kiss Ray awake and shortly after he stealthily left the bed, berating himself for feeling the urge in the first place, that it was, in fact, Gavin who spilt beer all over Michael's bed.

He discovers this by walking into the kitchen, because that's where Michael and Gavin are searching the cupboards for...something.

“Whatcha looking for?” Ryan asks as he walks in, immediately going for the tableware cupboard to grab a glass.

“This idiot,” Michael jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Gavin, “managed to knock Corona all over my bed. So,” Michael opens another cupboard, shoving aside spices and oils to look in the back, “we need to clean my goddamn mattress before Geoff finds out and makes us do grunt jobs.”

Ah, grunt jobs. Stuff Geoff usually uses contract hires for, lower level criminals with good rates and a good standing with Geoff, but grunt jobs are maybe his favourite punishment for members of the FAHC.

“So you need baking soda,” Ryan says.

“Exactly,” Michael agrees, moving on to a different cupboard.

“Found it!” Gavin exclaims, holding the box aloft and taking off running, presumably to Michael's room. Michael slams the cupboard shut and follows, swerving past Ryan as Ryan steps to the sink. 

Ryan chuckles to himself and fills the glass.

He putters uselessly around the kitchen for a while, unloading the dishwasher and organising the cupboards so Michael's rifling goes unnoticed by Geoff. He's kind of putting off the assassin job, mostly because he can't really be bothered to get suited up today.

Eventually, once kitchen chores prove too tedious and too obnoxious, Ryan resigns himself to his fate with a sigh. He manages to dress and gear up without waking Ray – whether that's a testament to Ryan's stealth or to Ray's ignorance, Ryan doesn't know – and slips quietly out the back door, driving off in the nondescript van they keep in the back of the garage for jobs like this.

\----

A grim atmosphere settles over the base when Michael goes into hospital. It's not even immediately life-threatening, but it was too messy for Gavin and Ray and so Ryan had to panic-drive him to hospital, fucking carry his broken body in.

Now two-fifths of the FAHC and Ray wait tensely in the waiting room. Geoff and Jack had to go do clean-up – it wasn't even a heist, just planning for one, and some asshole from FH decided to run over Michael with a souped-up Jeep.

Ryan's jaw clenches just _thinking_ about it, and he has to force himself to relax. It's only been two hours, and Michael's right leg was _smashed_ , and his left's not much better. Not to mention all the blood.

Gavin fidgets on the chair next to Ryan, shuffling his feet and crossing and uncrossing his legs. Ray lounges on a chair in the corner, scrolling on his phone. Silence pervades, only broken by Gavin's restlessness and the tapping of Ray's thumb.

Two minutes later, Ray stands up, shouldering a duffel (Michael's bag, full of ammo and bombs they _were_ going to plant but didn't), and he pockets his phone, zipping his hoodie up before he walks past Ryan and Gavin.

“Geoff wants me over there,” he says. “Text me if anything happens.”

Gavin doesn't meet his gaze, nodding absent-mindedly. Ryan catches Ray's eyes and nods.

Ray leaves, crash doors swinging soundlessly behind him as the silence returns. Ryan remembers something - “Ask Gavin” - and he glances between Gavin and the door Ray just left through.

“Hey Gavin,” he asks, hunching forward and looking to his right at Gavin.

“Yeah?” Gavin replies, wide eyes landing on Ryan's own.

“Why, uh, why won't Geoff invite Ray to the crew?”

Gavin's mouth drops open and he just stares at Ryan.

“What?”

“Geoff – I asked him if Ray's gonna join us and he said to ask you why not.”

“Oh.” Gavin looks out at the wall opposite them, licking his lips as he thinks. “He – Ray – he used to be in the crew. Before – Before you,” Gavin swallows and fiddles with his fingers. “He used to be the fifth one.”

“Then why isn't he part of it anymore?”

“It's – It's complicated, but - “ 

Gavin rubs his eyes, fingertips trailing absent-mindedly down his cheek as he opens and closes his mouth, swallowing whatever he was going to say. His hand drops to his lap, curled uselessly against his thigh.

“Uh,” Gavin coughs, smiles a little sadly. “It got a little too close one time.” He twists to push up the back of his shirt, revealing the base of a nasty scar that disappears up along his spine, under the shirt. Ryan's breath catches and Gavin lets the shirt fall back down.

“And – we used to be...a thing. Not, like, officially or anything, but we were close. Me, Ray, and Michael. But when I got hurt, Ray left. Got too close, I guess. I don't really know.”

“Jesus, Gavin,” Ryan says, unsure what to do. “That must have sucked.”

Gavin rolls his shoulders, laughs a little bitterly. “It's fine. It was – It was years ago.” Gavin presses the heel of his hand to his eye. Ryan doesn't comment on it. “We're still friends. I just – I'm just hoping this doesn't chase him off again.”

Ryan doesn't say anything, but he reaches out to pat Gavin's shoulder a little awkwardly. Gavin chuckles and turns to look at him with an unnaturally wet eye.

“Don't strain yourself there,” he says, and Ryan puffs out a laugh through his nose, smiling slightly. Gavin returns it and blows out a heavy sigh.

“Do you think he'll be out soon?” Meaning Michael.

“Yeah,” Ryan whispers, hand stationary on Gavin's shoulder. He pushes away the memories of Michael's limp body in his arms, the stark white of bone and the rubber of tyres, the blood smear on the road, the screaming.

Ryan's just thankful he managed to gun the guy down before he could drive away.

\----

Knowing that Ray used to be in the FAHC changes some things for Ryan. He reevaluates the kid's interactions with the crew – the easy way he talks with Geoff, the casual ribbing directed at Jack, the clear camaraderie with Gavin.

And _why_ he left changes even more things. It explains the hesitation to step foot in the hospital, the worry clear in his body language that's he trying to hide, how he's skittish - like a nervous horse - whenever someone mentions Michael.

It also means that the kid's not as much of a kid as Ryan thought – that if he was running with the FAHC, he must be pretty damn good. And it's not like Ryan hasn't noticed how good the kid is, he just never realised how long Ray must have been doing this gig. It's not like the FAHC picks up just any rookie criminal.

Doesn't stop Ryan from liking the kid, though.

Oh, and has he got it bad.

He'd hate himself but he's too busy trying to avoid Ray because he feels like the kid can sense what he's feeling, sense how soft he's gotten for the stupid guy.

More often than not these days he wakes up with Ray in his bed, and the scary thing is that it's not always sexual. In fact, more than half the time it's just Ray sleeping in his bed.

Ryan sighs as he watches Ray sleep, face half-buried in the pillow and breathing steady.

“Stop watchin' me, you creep,” he grumbles, muffled into the pillow. Ryan chuckles and pushes himself up on his elbows.

“I can't help that you're in my way,” Ryan says with a gentle kick to Ray's shin. A grin cuts into the cheek Ryan can see and Ray reaches up to grab his wrist, forcefully tugging him back down. Ryan goes with an 'oof!', collapsing next to Ray on his back.

“Asshole,” Ray mumbles, turning to face Ryan.

“Hey, what did I do?”

“Fuckin' – shut up,” Ray closes the gap between them and kisses Ryan, nothing more than a quick press of lips but it sends Ryan's heart racing and there's a faint blush on Ray's cheeks when he pulls away. “Stay,” Ray says, nosing into the pillow. His eyelashes fall shut and Ryan resists the urge to kiss him again.

“We have to get up. We've gotta see Michael.”

Ray tenses infinitesimally and scoots a little closer, pressing himself up against Ryan's side.

“Five more minutes,” he slurs. Ryan obliges. 

God, he is so fucked.

\----

Ryan watches as the doctor removes Michael's breathing tube, watches as he coughs and sputters and generally makes a spitty mess down his front. It's disgusting and not exactly Ryan's idea of a fun Sunday morning, but someone's got to be here, and Ryan suspects Gavin wouldn't appreciate this part.

“You okay?” He asks once the doctor and nurses have cleared, one with promises to come back with a different shirt for Michael.

Michael gestures to his front and pulls a face. “Disgusting,” he croaks. He coughs and winces, wiping a hand over his mouth afterwards. “Where's - “ he coughs again, more violently this time, and groans. “Where's Ga - “ another round and Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, don't speak if it hurts.” Michael nods and scrunches up his nose as he lays a hand over his chest.

“Are you asking about Gavin?” Michael nods again and Ryan removes his hand, sits down on the visitor chair beside the bed. “He's not here yet. He was still sleeping when I left.”

Michael rolls his eyes and Ryan chuckles. “Yeah. I mean, technically it was my job to wake him up, but,” Ryan shrugs, “he looked tired. I figured another hour or two would help.”

Michael grunts in agreement and the nurse returns with another hospital shirt.

With some careful manoeuvring they manage to wrangle the dirty shirt off and slide on the new one, Michael giving a thumbs-up and a smile as thanks. Ryan gives his verbally and the nurse leaves. He pulls out his phone to text Gavin, but Michael makes grabby hands at it and Ryan glances up at him with one eyebrow raised. Michael pouts and continues the grabby hands.

“You want my phone?” Michael nods, exaggerating his movements when Ryan doesn't hand it over. Ryan pretends to consider it for a moment, then agrees with a shrug and a “Sure, why not?”. Michael's face lights up as he takes it, switching apps and tapping furiously before showing Ryan the screen. Ryan leans forward to read it.

'Where is everyone?' He's opened the Notes app, typing out the question in it.

“Uh, Geoff's in a meeting, Jack – is also in that meeting, yeah, Gavin's asleep, and Ray is – I think he's still at the base. He was getting breakfast when I left.”

'What meeting?'

“Lawyer. Sort out the - “ Ryan gestures at Michael with a broad wave - “insurance and all that. Shouldn't be too long. They'll swing by after that.”

'Run over by a car?' Michael points to himself, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah. FH. Don't worry, I got the guy. Hey, did they tell you about your injuries? Your legs - ”

Michael nods and gives a dismissive wave.

'Been talking about that to death'

“No shit, this _is_ a hospital.”

Michael snickers.

'Save me, Rye, for the love of god. Talk about fucking anything else, please'

“All right, all right,” Ryan chuckles, going silent for a moment as he thinks of something to talk about.

“Hey - “ he starts, leaning forward, but then Michael turns the screen to him and the words fall away.

'How're you and Ray?'

“Uh, me and Ray? We're, uh, we're fine? What do you mean?” Ryan replies at least an octave higher than usual. Real subtle. Michael rolls his eyes.

'Have you confessed your eternal love for each other yet?' Michael smiles innocently.

“Oh, fuck you, Michael.”

'Is that an invitation?'

Ryan flips him off.

'But seriously, have you told him?'

“Told him what?”

'About your big dumb crush on him – it's not exactly subtle'

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

'Bullshit'

“I really don't!”

'Bull. Shit.'

“I don't have a 'big dumb crush' on Ray, okay?”

'Vagabond and Ray, sitting in a tree - '

“Shut up, Michael.”

'- K I S S I N G'

“Fuck this,” Ryan says, and goes to stand up, reaching for his phone. “I'll get Gavin, maybe you can quiz him about something.”

'Okay, okay, I'm sorry' Michael gives him these puppy-dog eyes, truly pitiful. 'Really, I'm sorry'.

Ryan sighs and sits back down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Whatever. It's – I overreacted. I'm sorry.”

They sit in silence for a minute, Michael turning the phone over in his hands as Ryan regrets ever meeting Ray.

'You do like him, right?'

Ryan blows out a breath through pursed lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes from the phone to meet Michael's.

'Then why not tell him?'

Ryan sighs again and looks pointedly at the corner of Michael's pillow.

“Look, Gavin told me about – Ray. Why he left – the crew.”

“Oh,” Michael mouths. Ryan looks lamely down at the hand in his lap.

“I just don't want to chase him off again.” The echo of Gavin's words taste bitter in his mouth, a harsh reminder that this isn't the first time Ray's dealt with the FAHC. “And I don't even know if he...if he likes me. Y'know, the same way.”

Michael nods thoughtfully and types something.

'He won't run away again'

“How do you know?”

'It's different this time.'

“What?”

Michael narrows his eyes.

'Didn't Gav tell you the story?'

“Well, yeah, he said that you three were close and then he got hurt. And – something about Ray thinking he was too close, and he took off. Then he showed me his scar.”

Michael sighs and taps on the phone.

'That's not the whole story'

“What else is there?”

'Ray's the one that injured Gav'

“ _What_?” Ryan asks, lifting his head.

'Accident. Blamed himself and left. But we fucked it up, Gav and me. Gav was in a coma and I was angry, blamed Ray. I pushed him out and he left'

Ryan doesn't have a response. He ponders this new information, but something doesn't quite make sense.

“So how is it different this time? He could still hurt someone again – it was an accident, after all.”

'You're not an asshole, you wouldn't react like I did'

Michael thinks for a moment, types something else.

'Biggest mistake I ever made'

\----

Ryan ducks as a rocket flies over his head, colliding in a shower of sparks and fire against the wall behind him. The comms crackle in his ear as he loads another clip into his SMG, heavily regretting not bringing his rocket launcher for this.

“Gav, you got a car?” He pants into the mic, popping up to shoot back every few seconds. Another rocket explodes behind him and the wind blows smoke straight into his face.

“Not...yet!” Gavin shouts back, and Ryan can only assume he's close to one, judging by the screech of metal he hears over the comms.

“Just a few more hits and we can kill these motherfuckers,” Geoff says. “Keep it together.”

Ryan groans and thumps his head against the concrete wall he's using as cover. The asphalt is hell on his ass, scraping uncomfortably over the jeans every time he moves. They really need Michael for these types of things, but he's still out of action. And they had to take care of this, although Ryan doesn't see why it couldn't wait. With Michael they'd have been done ten minutes ago.

Gang attacks aren't Ryan's favourite – they're fun and they're useful, but they're honestly kind of boring for Ryan.

A grenade clatters to the ground next to Ryan and he barely tosses it back in time – it explodes mid-air, bone-shaking and violent – and he really needs to get out of here.

“Jack, I need evac.”

“Where are you?”

“Back of the parking garage, cowering behind a wall. Y'know, the usual.”

“Uh, how quickly?”

“Preferably - “ Ryan hurriedly scrambles away from another grenade after kicking it away from him “ - now, they've got grenades.”

“Shit, man, I'll try.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, and shoots blindly over the barrier. Something explodes and he chances a glance over the concrete. Two guys are running from a burning Adder, flames licking at the paint and scorching the metal. They spot Ryan and start shooting again, unloading their mini-guns into the wall behind him and he ducks again, cursing.

“Jack, I got it,” a voice cuts in – Ray's. “I'm right there anyway.”

Ryan doesn't hear Jack's response over the roar of a motorbike, pulling up on the road a few metres to his left. It's creek brown (shit brown) and there's a hot pink gun tucked into the driver's waistband. Ray.

Ryan crawls from his spot, a slow, humiliating thing that scrapes his palms and wrecks his knees.

No matter, though, because once he gets to the road, he's covered by the corner of the parking garage, a solid corner of concrete two feet thick. He silently thanks any deities out there and stands up to jog to Ray, slinging a leg over the seat and slotting in behind him, hands on his hips.

“Got him,” Ray says before they take off, racing down the road. The speed sends a thrill through Ryan, wind in his hair and tearing at his clothes, and he laughs breathlessly as Ray drifts around a corner. He circles back around and Ryan uses Ray's pistol to shoot as they drive by, dispatching two of the gunmen with well-aimed shots.

“Cops are here!” Gavin exclaims cheerfully, and a moment later Ryan sees what must be Gavin's car flying off a hill, landing hard on the road fifty metres in front of him. Four cop cars follow him, and Ray immediately spins the bike around, nearly knocking Ryan off.

“We got the last ones, let's go!” Geoff orders.

“Already doin' that,” Ray mutters, low enough that only Ryan can hear it.

Ray takes off west, weaving through cars and dodging cop bullets as they head towards the train tracks. Jack and Geoff follow close behind, flipping them off as they speed by. Gavin went the other way to distract the cops – once he's got them thoroughly confused, he'll head north and meet the train up there.

They stop just outside a tunnel, ditching the bike a few metres away from the tracks. Ray grabs Ryan's hand and drags him to the tunnel entrance.

The sunlight hits Ray's eyes as he looks at Ryan and something else entirely hits Ryan's chest like a punch. He halts and Ray stops with him, smiling hesitantly at him. Ryan flips his hand to curl fingers around Ray's wrist, and pulls him in until they're only inches apart.

Ryan's gaze drops from Ray's eyes to his lips and he licks his own self-consciously. Ray follows the movement, and the slight stutter in his breathing shows he knows what's about to happen. And he doesn't stop Ryan as Ryan leans in. And he doesn't stop him as Ryan kisses him.

There's something heady about kissing Ray, a sort of feeling that enhances the sensation of Ray against him, his hair under his fingers as Ryan cups the side of his skull. Ryan pulls back and Ray chases him for another kiss. Ryan gladly gives it, not missing the way Ray twists his hand to slot his fingers in between Ryan's.

When Ryan pulls back again, Ray doesn't follow. He notices the faint smear of face paint on Ray's lips and wipes at it with a dry thumb. Ray licks his thumb, surprising a chuckle out of him, and Ryan takes a moment to just look at Ray, dark hair and thick glasses and day-old stubble and bloody clothes, and the punch hits again.

Ryan looks down at their enjoined hands, contemplating his next words. All the permutations sound pretty stupid, but then again so is the entire concept of dating criminals, so Ryan just spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Coffee sometime?”

Ray laughs unexpectedly and Ryan drags his gaze up to meet his eyes.

“'Course,” Ray says, and kisses him again.

This time they're broken apart by the train horn, blaring through the relative silence. Ryan contains his jump and they separate to get into the train car.

The train whizzes by them at ridiculous miles per hour, a terrifying metal beast, and Ryan only has a moment to grab the car and hop in. He grabs the side and heaves himself over, feet slipping against the worn metal as he pushes himself over. He lands face-first in the car, his cheek smashed to warm metal and his kneecaps slamming hard again the bottom. It hurts like a fucking _bitch_ and Ryan swears quietly under his breath as he pushes himself up on hands and knees.

Ray groans behind him and Ryan turns his head to see Ray sprawled on his back. God, his rifle must be digging painfully into his spine. Ray coughs and rolls onto his side, pushing himself up to a sitting position and scooting back to lean against the side of the car. Ryan follows his lead, sighing as he stretches out his legs.

“Where are Jack and Geoff?” Ryan pants, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans.

“They'll get on the next station. Shouldn't be long,” Ray replies, bringing his knees up and resting an arm on them. His other arm drops down between them and his slim fingers curling around Ryan's own startles Ryan. He almost blurts out a question, but he catches the unnatural tension in Ray's shoulders and shuts his goddamn mouth. He squeezes Ray's hand gently and watches Ray's shoulder slump the tiniest bit.

They hold hands the entire trip, and Geoff and Jack don't say a damn thing when they flop onboard. Geoff shoots Ryan a pointed look and Ryan, the coward, looks away. Jack tries to say something with his eyes, too, but Ryan also doesn't look at him.

And even later, when Gavin hops onboard, all he does after spotting their hands is smile fondly at Ray. Ray doesn't notice – too busy staring at the ground between his feet – but Ryan does.

Ray's hand disappears as he leans forward to grab Gavin's gun, examining the bent barrel. Ryan pretends he can't feel the phantom warmth of Ray's palm and curls his hand into a fist.

\----

That night, much later, after they've patched up Jack's scrapes and Gavin's paper cut – don't ask – they're sprawled around the TV, watching as Michael beats Geoff in some racing game. Ryan's not really paying attention, distracted by the weight of Ray against his side where they're pressed together on the sofa, Gavin on Ray's other side.

“Okay!” Geoff says when he loses. “Ray, get a controller. We're doing Call of Duty.”

“Winner gets to massacre Gavin?” Ray asks, leaning forward to accept the controller Jack passes him. Gavin sputters indignantly and Ray cuts a sly glance over to him. “I mean, winner plays Gavin?”

“Yeah.”

Geoff loads the map and Michael taps on Ryan's arm, gesturing to his Diet Coke. Ryan passes it to the invalid on his left, in the comfy leather recliner because he needs to keep his legs propped up. Michael chugs a quarter of it and gives Ryan a thumbs up as he gives it back. Ryan rolls his eyes and drinks.

Ray wins, to no one's surprise, and there's a round of cheering as Gavin gets passed a controller, sighing as he reacquaints himself with the controls.

Ray dominates at first, as expected, but halfway through Gavin makes a comeback and suddenly Ryan's finding himself glued to the screen, waiting to see if Gavin'll get past ten kills.

He does, but a couple kills later Ray wins, giving Ryan the controller and Gavin loads up a Halo death match.

And that's how the night progresses – controllers and drinks switching hands – no alcohol near Michael and no Call of Duty death matches with Ray – and it's a chance to relax that Ryan hasn't had in a while. He cusses out Michael when Michael wins and Gavin nearly slaps him in the face with his flailing and all the time Ryan can't stop the smile growing on his face.

Eventually, somewhere around one a.m., Michael needs his dose of antibiotics and painkillers, and when the painkillers make him too drowsy, Jack and Gavin take charge of moving him to a bed. Geoff shuts down the entertainment system and, too drunk to be much help, goes when Ryan and Ray shoo him away.

“Guess we should clean this up, huh?” Ryan asks, surveying the mess of beer bottles and discarded snack wrappers.

“Probably,” Ray agrees, and makes no move to get up.

“Come on,” Ryan grunts after a minute or two, pushing himself out of the chair. “Let's at least get the beer cleaned up.”

Ray groans but gathers up empty crisp bags in one hand. Ryan collects bottles and the occasional gum wrapper, pulling at face at the sticky residue on his fingers. Ray drags his feet all the way to the bin but eventually dumps his load. Ryan follows soon after.

They walk down the hallway together and pause awkwardly in front of Ray's room.

“So, uh, goodnight, I guess?” Ryan asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Ray licks his lips and looks at his door. “Unless,” Ryan ventures, “you want me to come in?”

Ray shrugs, looks down at the floor again. “Nah. Your bed's comfier, anyway.”

Ryan sucks in a breath and nods jerkily. “Yeah, yeah all right. I'll keep it unlocked.”

Ray nods and glances up at him and away.

Ryan turns to leave, wondering if maybe he should make a more direct invitation, but then Ray disappears into his room and Ryan's just left standing in the hallway like a fool. So he shuffles off to his room.

True to his word, he keeps the door unlocked, and watches the faint strip of light under the door as he tugs the blanket up around himself. There's a dent in the pillow where Ray's head usually is, and Ryan doesn't know how to feel about that, knows maybe he should feel scared or nervous or _something_ , but really he just feels...completely fine with that. Like maybe it's how things are supposed to be.

He doesn't have much time to overthink, though, because then shadows appear outside his door. They pause for a moment and Ryan's heart rate picks up, but then the door swings open silently and Ray steps in, meeting Ryan's eyes in the dark. The moment is electric and terrifying and Ryan's pretty sure if this drags out any more his heart'll burst right out of his chest. His hands are sweating as he pulls the corner of the blanket down, an invitation. A request. A plea.

Ray, thankfully, breaks the eye contact and locks the door before walking towards him, sliding into the bed in a way that's starting to become familiar to Ryan. He scoots up against Ryan, bumping up under his chin and catching Ryan's foot between his own. Ryan's nose is pressed into Ray's hair. It smells like his shampoo. His heart is racing just as fast as Ryan's.

Ryan closes his eyes and forces his body to relax – it's not hard, not with Ray there – and Ryan would be embarrassed at how easily he falls asleep with Ray if he had the time, but one blink and he's drifting off. He's vaguely aware of Ray shifting next to him, scooting in closer and basically just being a solid wall of warmth that seems to be the switch from conscious to decidedly unconscious for Ryan's brain.

So, he sleeps.

\----

Turns out Ray's horny in the mornings – this Ryan discovers when Ray climbs on top of him shortly after waking up, grinning wickedly and planting a hand beside Ryan's head as he leans down to kiss him. Ryan brings his hands up to Ray's hips and rubs his thumbs over the exposed spurs of his hipbones, digging his fingers in when Ray rocks forward.

“Eager,” he mumbles, and Ray bites his lip.

“Shut up,” Ray mutters, and Ryan lets Ray kiss him back to quiet.

Ryan slides a hand over to palm Ray's dick, earning himself a rumbling moan that tingles through his lips. He grinds the heel of his hand down harder and Ray shudders, rhythm stuttering in a way that makes him rub deliciously against Ryan and Ryan's own hips buck up. Ray seems perfectly content to just rub off against Ryan and Ryan's happy to let him, swallowing his noises as he curls his fingers to jack him properly, short, quick strokes over the fabric that make Ray pant.

Ray's lips slide away to trail kisses down Ryan's jaw, tongue switching to teeth to suck up a hickey just under the bolt of Ryan's jaw. Ryan swears quietly and tilts his head to expose his neck, giving Ray more room to work. Ray hums approvingly and Ryan can't take his fucking eyes off of the lean twist of Ray's body, the flex of his shoulders as he shifts over Ryan. His hair tickles Ryan's jaw and stubble scrapes rough over his throat – the contrast makes Ryan's nerves light up.

Ray sounds fucking good when he comes, hips jerking to a stop and a muffled moan puffing out against Ryan's skin. Ryan makes sure to press his palm over the head, grinning at the sudden rush of heat and the wetness that seeps through a moment later. He shudders again above Ryan and rocks suddenly forward, chasing the last moments of his orgasm which Ryan gladly helps with.

“Fuck,” he mumbles into Ryan's neck, gasping in a breath before he lifts his head to kiss Ryan again, hot and desperate. Ryan licks into his panting mouth and Ray opens fucking easily to him, leaning into the hand now in his hair.

Ray's hand smooths down his chest, rucking up his shirt to drag pleasantly calloused hands down skin and rubs briefly over the growing bulge in Ryan's sweats. He slides his hand _in_ and gets a strong grip on Ryan's cock, tugging in firm, deft strokes that have Ryan groaning quietly. His thumb swipes over the wet head and shit, this'll be over faster than Ryan thought if Ray keeps _twisting_ like that.

Ray does keep twisting like that, grinning at every sound he pulls out of Ryan and replacing each gasp for breath with a dizzying kiss. Ryan clutches at Ray's side and rocks up against his hand more steadily with each thrust.

“Tighter,” he says between messy kisses, and Ray obliges, tightening his grip and smearing slickness down the length in a move that has Ryan's toes curling. He twists again and it's like fucking heaven, perfect and hot and tight and Ryan's so goddamn close right now.

Ray must sense it, somehow, because he lifts up to let Ryan breathe and his hand moves faster, urging Ryan towards the edge. His eyes flutter open, dark lashes framing black-blown eyes, and Ryan's stuck staring at him when he comes, closing his eyes briefly to just feel the pleasure pulsing through him. He whimpers lowly, pathetically, and Ray doesn't stop his hand, stroking through his orgasm and straight into oversensitivity, relentless until Ryan gives a little pained grunt. Then he pulls off, carefully removing his come-covered hand from Ryan's sweats and, with lack of a better place to put it, plants it on Ryan's chest.

Ryan doesn't even mind the sticky wet sensation of it as Ray kisses him again _because_ Ray's kissing him again, and Ryan's not entirely sure he should love it this much, but he does, so fuck it.

\----

In the ineffable, cosmic way that the universe loves fucking with Ryan, he gets paired with Gavin for a stakeout. And Gavin is absolutely, mindbogglingly restless. Ryan just wants him to sit still for five minutes but it seems even that's too much to manage. Gavin talks incessantly, steamrolling over Ryan's pointed silence and chattering about the job he did with Jack last week.

Ryan'll give him credit – at least the story's funny.

They wait – Ryan patiently and Gavin decidedly impatiently – for the target to appear, eyes trained on the door and key in the ignition.

The target – a balding man in his forties with too many rings on his fingers and too much spray tan – emerges from the shadowy doorway, talking loudly on the phone. Gavin shuts up and takes his feet off the dashboard, straightening in his seat. Ryan starts the engine as the guy drives off and carefully tails him down into Davis, coasting to a stop across the road to watch him stroll into a seedy nightclub.

“He's just gone in,” Gavin says over the comms, glancing at Ryan, who nods. “Yeah, we're ready.”

“How long?” Ryan asks.

“Ten minutes at most,” Gavin replies easily, shrugging as he leans back in his seat. “You'll get them in the alley.”

Ryan flexes his hand on the wheel and starts the difficult process of reversing into the narrow alleyway, making sure to leave enough room for Michael and Geoff to get in on the right side.

Seven and a half minutes later, the door to the building busts open and gunfire hails over Ryan's car, making Gavin flinch as the windshield cracks. Michael and Geoff burst out of the fray and Michael tosses a grenade back to stall for time as Geoff tugs the car door open. Ryan revs the engine and Michael bundles into after Geoff, barely closing the door before Ryan's gunning it out of the alley and tearing down the wrong side of the street.

“You got him, boi?” Gavin asks, turning around to look at Michael. Michael grins and wipes away the trickle of blood under his mouth.

“Sure did,” he says, meeting Ryan's eyes in the rearview mirror. “That motherfucker's dead.”

“Dead as dicks,” Geoff adds, an exhilarated gleam in his eyes.

“Good,” Ryan says, swerving out of the way of oncoming cop cars. “Now if you could take care of these guys, that'd be great.”

“No problem, Rye-bread,” Michael says, knocking out the window glass with his elbow and leaning out to shoot.

“Could have just used the buttons,” Ryan grumbles uselessly to himself. Geoff rolls down his window like a normal person and shoots out the other side, sending the car directly in front of them spinning with a blown tyre.

Michael whoops and Gavin turns back around to brace himself as Ryan cuts harsh corners, jumping hills and racing away. He winds up onto the motorway, dodging civilian cars and bullets as cops chase after them. The back window shatters and Geoff swears loudly as he brushes glass off of himself. Ryan swerves to avoid a bike and the cops are still hot on their heels.

Police vans try to block him on the overpass and the windshield explodes in a shower of glass that lands mostly on Gavin. Ryan makes a split-second decision and yanks the car to the left, shouting “Hold on!” before he accelerates brutally towards the edge, ignoring Gavin's screaming as the car flies off of the overpass.

There's a breathless, weightless moment as they drop through the air and Ryan's heart does backflips.

Geoff gasps and they land with a bone-jarring thud, hard enough to make Ryan's teeth click together painfully. Ryan hasn't taken his foot off the pedal and the suspension shudders as they immediately speed off down the straightaway, bypassing the cops they shot down earlier. The inside of the car erupts into cheering, Michael's loud whooping only topped by Geoff's shrill shriek of amazement. Gavin laughs and joins Michael in his yelling. Ryan can't help but smirk because, okay, that was pretty damn cool. He's feeling pretty badass about it.

\----

Jack's eyes nearly bug out of his head when Geoff tells him and Ray about Ryan's jump. Ryan smiles a little smugly as Jack punches his arm. 

“You fucker, you waste that on _Gavin_?” He says. “Next time do it when _I'm_ in the car!”

Ryan laughs good-naturedly and Jack smiles at him, turning back to Geoff.

“Nice going,” Ray says, leaning against the kitchen counter. He kicks Ryan's leg lightly. “Ryan the stunt jump guy.”

“You can't even drive,” Ryan says.

“Not legally.” Ray waggles his eyebrows and grins. “Doesn't mean I haven't.”

Ryan rolls his eyes but can't really stop himself from returning Ray's grin.

“It was beautiful as dicks, Jack, you had to be there!” Geoff's saying, awed. “God I hope you can recreate that, Ryan.”

“I mean, we can certainly try,” Ryan says. “We'll get Jack in this time.”

“I like that idea,” Jack agrees, nodding. “Gavin doesn't deserve that twice.” He laughs and Geoff claps him on the shoulder, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Oh Jack, whatever am I going to do with you?”

\----

Ryan's so far gone for the kid it's honestly kind of ridiculous.

But Gavin's fear and Michael's reassurance dog him, _I'm just hoping this doesn't chase him off again_ followed by _It's different this time_ and around and around in circles.

All Ryan wants is a chance, something firmer than what they're doing now, where Ray could disappear at any moment and be gone like a whisper in the wind. He wonders what he can say to convince Ray to stay. He wonders if he even can convince him.

Ryan clears his throat and shifts so his mouth isn't muffled by the pillow.

“I know you used to be part of the crew,” he says. Ray stiffens next to him. Ryan tightens his arm slightly around Ray's waist.

“Yeah,” Ray says hesitantly, not looking at Ryan. He's on his back, Ryan on his side next to him. Moonlight stripes pleasantly over his face. “What about it?”

“Gavin told me what happened,” Ryan continues. Ray stays silent.

“...and?” Ray asks quietly a minute later.

“He told me why you left.”

“Ryan - “ Ryan pushes himself up to hover over Ray, force him to meet his eyes.

“Would you want to join the crew again?”

“Is this your way of asking me to stay?”

Ryan pauses, unexpectedly called out.

“Uh,” he says intelligently. “I mean, I wouldn't - “

Ray laughs softly and Ryan frowns down at him. “Asshole.”

“Is it?” Ray persists, and Ryan dips down to kiss him in response.

“Maybe,” he whispers, but he can't get much more out because Ray's teeth scrape over his bottom lip and Ryan can't pull himself away.

\----

Geoff drags them all into the living room for a meeting the next night, some sort of announcement, he says, practically buzzing with excitement. Ryan hopes it's because he's come across some windfall and not because he's sending them out on jobs at the last minute.

Geoff claps his hands once and everyone falls silent and turns to him. He rakes his eyes over everyone – Jack and Ray and Michael and Gavin and Ryan – and can't hide the grin pulling at his lips.

“I've got some exciting news,” he says, rocking on his feet as he lets the suspense build.

“Well what the fuck _is_ it, Geoff?” Michael asks exuberantly. Gavin laughs and Geoff grins.

“Ray's joining the crew again!” Geoff says, spreading his hands in front of him. “We have a sixth now!”

Michael cheers and Jack joins in as Geoff beams proudly at Ray. Gavin glances over to Ryan and smirks a little, like he knows what's going on. Ryan keeps his expression carefully blank and meets Ray's eyes. Ray shrugs and his focus is broken when Gavin goes over to hug him - Michael follows and Ray's swallowed in a dogpile of limbs, trying and failing to push both of them off.

They celebrate – _they_ , the crew, all six of them. It's bright and it's loud and Ryan can't quash the glimmer of hope in his chest, that maybe this means Ray'll stick around, at least for a bit. It makes him bolder, brushing his hand against Ray's and smiling when Ray knocks his shoulder. His heart beats faster with each touch and he can't stop fucking grinning.

Later, much later that night, when the crew's scattered to their various beds, Ryan waits anxiously for Ray. He doesn't need to fret for long, though, because then Ray comes in quietly, locking the door behind him and padding softly to Ryan's bed. He slips in, familiar warmth and familiar comfort, and Ryan's breath hitches as Ray presses shyly into him. Ryan drapes an arm over Ray's waist, encouraging him to relax, and Ray does, sighing into the space under Ryan's jaw.

Ryan's halfway to sleep when it occurs to him to ask.

“Why did you decide to stay?" He whispers into Ray's hair, ignoring the hesitation in his voice.

Ray shrugs and tucks a foot between Ryan's.

“You asked,” he says simply, so simply, like _this_ is simple, and, well.

Ryan thinks it could be. 

**Author's Note:**

> Want a piece? I've got [commissions](https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com/post/163213021377/fic-commissions)! (Link goes to my tumblr commission post.)


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